


if only we had stayed

by Shampain



Series: Epoch [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 'cause Hux is just an angsty guy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Armitage Hux Lives, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Shame No Beta, Post-Canon, for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: Armitage Hux had once been in charge of a terrifying fleet making its mark on the galaxy; now, he spends his days alone in his workshop on Ajan Kloss, and his nights with Poe Dameron.Also, he has become caretaker to a very needy, anxious droid, and he has no idea why.The less-depressing but still very cynical prequel tobut we could have lived forever
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Series: Epoch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822489
Comments: 21
Kudos: 72





	if only we had stayed

Most of his life had been spent being cold. Cold hallways, cold quarters, cold hangars, and the frozen expanse of space that seemed to press in on all sides. Even when he was planetside he found he couldn’t ignore it, like a frigid hand on the back of his neck.

But on Ajan Kloss he was always hot. There were some places in which to enjoy a cool (mechanical) breeze, but for the most part he and everyone else were at the mercy of the tropical climate. One thing he liked about the warm temperatures was, at least when he worked outside, his hands were never cold or stiff, something that had always plagued him. It helped when he was handling or tinkering with something particularly delicate. Beyond that, though, he was in a constant state of being too sweaty, too hot, and too irritated.

It had gotten to the point that, the very moment he had been allowed to handle tools without supervision, he’d begun to rig up a fan and cooling system for first his workshop and then the various working quarters and communal spaces that populated the now-defunct rebel camp. That, more than anything else, bought him the goodwill of the people who had decided to settle there in the aftermath of Exegol.

Even with fans in place, though, the air in his workshop seemed sluggish from the heat. Though _workshop_ was definitely not a word he would have used to describe it. It was a covered area with walls barely higher than four feet, to which shelving and storage were bolted; the rest was open, with shutters that could be pulled down and shored up in case of a storm. Generally speaking, anyone walking by could see Armitage working away at whatever had caught his fancy at the moment. It was, of course, all in the name of transparency; nobody liked the idea of him holed up in the dark plotting away. Here, literally everyone at the base could keep an eye on him. Not that they even seemed to care anymore; his presence there had just become another strange fact in their already odd lives.

Still, he was more comfortable there than any other place, maybe even more comfortable than being on the bridge of a star destroyer. And while he did not have the limitless resources of the First Order at his disposal, he had enough to keep himself occupied, and he found there was ingenuity to be found in refurbishing and upcycling. Most importantly, the space was _his_. He was not in charge, but he _was_ left to do as he wished in peace.

More or less.

“ _Hey! Hey-hey, fix it please_.”

He had been so absorbed in his blueprints he hadn’t even heard the soft _whish_ of D-O’s wheel on the paving stones as the droid made its way into the workshop. Its tinny voice alerted him before it came to an abrupt stop via nearly crashing into his calf, then pressed its wheel to the side of his foot to alert him to its urgency.

He looked down, brows drawing together in mild irritation. “What, again?”

The droid’s old hardware was somewhat defenceless against Ajan Kloss’ damp climate to the point where spots of corrosion had bloomed around several important joints, as well as on its wheel. There had been no trained droidsmith among the camp, and even before Rey had left she had grown up on Jakku with, it could be said, a _gap_ in her knowledge regarding tropical climes. They had taken to oiling and cleaning D-O repeatedly until Armitage had rolled up his sleeves and tackled the problem, mixing together a synthetic polish that protected the droid’s outer shell and nullified any further chemical reaction.

It worked, but only when the droid wasn’t running about the underbrush getting it all wiped off on clumps of ferns and loam. Suffice it to say D-O did it far too much for Armitage’s liking, especially since the droid had decided that _he_ was the only one permitted to apply the polish, careening back into the undergrowth should anyone else make the attempt.

He looked down at his blueprints and then sighed. This design wasn’t going anywhere, anyway; sometimes they just didn’t, and that was fine. Not good, or bad, but just fine. It had been a long time since Armitage could do anything without any repercussions, even longer since mediocrity was no longer a punishable offense.

“If you keep this up we’re going to have to disassemble you for a deep clean, you know,” he warned, stepping away from the drafting table. “The rust is going to get into your circuitry.”

The droid whistled something that either meant _worth it_ or _I can’t help myself_. D-O’s speech patterns were simplistic even in droidspeak, but that just meant there was more room for double meanings, including backhanded compliments and innocent-sounding insults. When Armitage had explained this to Poe – perhaps getting a little too detailed and specific, as he was wont to do – the other man had interrupted, “Oh, so he talks like you?”

He grabbed the tin of polish, making sure the lid was secure – it was a solid at room temperature but out in the jungle it tended to liquefy, and it had been difficult to make with his limited resources. The first and only time Armitage had spilt it was because Poe had failed to put the lid on properly, and it had resulted in a very lonely night for General Dameron.

By the time he was over at the smaller work table the droid was already waiting for him there, impatiently beeping. Armitage had always liked droids; he always felt like he had more in common with them than with other warm-bodied life forms. “I’m picking you up now,” he said.

D-O nervously rotated its wheel when Armitage reached down to pick it up, causing it to stutter back and forth for a moment, but that was more a tic of its programming now than anything else. Droids had the capability of learning from their surroundings, which meant while they had a primary set of programming, there was a second set constantly in flux. Even though D-O knew it was not likely to be mistreated, its secondary programming meant it flinched back at most contact, even from contact it requested or needed. It would remain that way until the droid was operational long enough for its new experiences to overlap the old.

D-O was small but also surprisingly light, a result of it being built to exist inside ships or hangars rather than on multiple terrains. He picked up a dry rag, watching the droid stutter about a bit more as he began to swipe the cloth over its surface before finally calming down. There was more mud than he had expected, and he made a face.

“Running about the damn jungle with BB8 again,” he muttered to himself, though the droid made an affirmative whistle and a series of beeps to explain itself. He set the rag down for a moment, glaring at the droid. “Looking? At what?”

“ _Bird-birds_ ,” D-O said. “ _Flocks_.”

“And what is so interesting to you about birds?” Armitage asked. Mud wiped off, he picked up another clean rag, dipping it into the polish and beginning to buff the droid’s wheel.

“Well, they can fly,” said a voice behind him.

Armitage didn’t turn around, but he listened to the satisfying sound Poe’s boots made on the ground as he walked over. Sometimes just knowing that Poe was there was enough for him, enough to make his heart beat a bit faster, his movements to become more careful because, for some accursed reason, Poe’s presence seemed to make him clumsier. He half-expected the other man to do something inappropriate, like press up against his back; instead he came to Armitage’s right, leaning down to place his elbows on the work table to watch as he polished D-O.

“Flying’s not so great,” Armitage said, without looking up, but letting the corner of his mouth tick up to let Poe know he was teasing.

“You’re just impossible to impress,” Poe said. “Isn’t that right, Dio?”

The droid seemed to think about that for a moment, tilting left and then right on the tabletop, before releasing a high-pitched, yet authoritative whistle. _Difficult but not impossible_ , it said. Armitage set down his rag for a moment, surprised, while Poe threw back his head and laughed.

“I can’t believe there’s a droid that likes you more than it likes me,” Poe remarked, smiling. He tipped his head to the side, considering Armitage with his soft, warm eyes; eyes that made Armitage feel seen in a way he never had before, to be looked at without the threat of feeling exposed. “I guess I see the appeal, though.”

“Because I’m so great at lubricating?” Armitage asked, in a thin, dry voice, turning his attention back to D-O, but smiling as Poe laughed again. He had a wonderful laugh; it seemed to light a glow in Armitage’s chest, below his throat, and it smouldered long after the laughing had stopped.

Polishing D-O was an annoyance, but only a small one, matching the droid’s stature. “There, you’re done,” he said, screwing the lid back onto the tin, _tightly_ , and casting a look at Poe, who seemed appropriately shame-faced at the memory it brought up. “Try to make it at least a week before you’re back here getting underfoot.”

“Aw, but he likes you,” Poe commented, watching Armitage set the droid back down on the floor. It did a gleeful figure eight before zooming away, likely to look for Poe’s troublesome droid. “If you let him hang out here more often he wouldn’t be out there getting gunked up.”

“I can’t work with him around. Sort of like I can’t work with you around,” Armitage said. He turned, leaning his hips back against the table, and folded his arms over his chest.

“Which is why _I’m_ always out there getting gunked up, I guess,” Poe replied, amiable as ever. He had a faint little smile on his face that meant he was thinking about kissing Armitage, and even though he always wavered on the side of caution – more for Armitage’s sense of privacy than anything else – Armitage always liked seeing Poe wearing that look, even though that sometimes meant he had to turn down some very tempting advances.

Poe Dameron had a sort of HoloNet beauty about him (hugely irritating) and it seemed like no matter what he did he was posing for some invisible camera. It's not that Armitage was unaccustomed to handsomeness, because the First Order, much like any organization, had its fair share of beautiful people. He was also one of the few people who knew what was underneath Phasma and Kylo Ren's helmets, so his knowledge was more complete than the average trooper's. It was, however, notable that Armitage found Poe Dameron _attractive_.

To say that Armitage was picky would have been the understatement of an era. With Armitage, his attraction to other people burned hot but fast; after a few satisfying encounters he was quick to end it, his interest gone and his desires satisfied. It was also a rare occurrence, much more so in the last several years, which was fine by him – dalliances were a waste of time in comparison to his climb to power.

Of course, the next worse thing was being attracted to your enemy, especially when you were at his mercy in a post-war world, and _especially_ when said enemy started to stare at you just a few seconds too long to be normal.

Armitage had hoped, after the first few (admittedly very frenzied) sessions his desire would simmer away, and he would have something he could use to hold over Poe Dameron's head in the future. Obviously, that had not gone to plan.

“You’re posing again,” Armitage told him.

Poe glanced down at himself, surprised; during the short course of their conversation he had straightened up, one hand planted on the table, the other hand on his hip, looking like he was practicing for a photo shoot. “So I am,” he said, grinning. It was a popular opinion in the First Order – those aware of Poe’s exploits – that he looked like some ridiculous poster boy for the rebellion. Armitage had made a terrible mistake in mentioning that once – _just once_ – and Poe never let him forget it. “You thinking of enlisting?”

“Bit late for that,” Armitage said. Despite himself he was smiling – not in an obvious way, but in a way he knew Poe was seeing, because the other man was looking more and more pleased with himself as each second ticked by. Or perhaps not so much pleased with himself as he was with Armitage, but that was still a strange thing to consider even now.

He walked away from Poe, knowing he would just drift after him anyway. “What brings you here?” he asked, gauging the time from the amount of light coming through the canopy of trees. Poe usually didn’t show up for another hour, if that; his responsibilities fluctuated constantly, but he was organized enough that his time table wasn’t that impossible to figure out.

He began to pile up the remainders of his blueprints, though in reality they were more like drawings. Ever since Armitage had begun to comprehend the engineering sciences, he had been able to follow the transference and movement of energy. He was not a weapons designer, nor had he been a part of the team that had brought Starkiller Base to fruition; but he had been the most informed among all of the officers, had in fact taken over leadership of the project as the First Order shook off more of the old guard from the Empire. He had met and socialized with every member of the main team and most of the smaller teams that had been responsible for the build.

Armitage had also understood Starkiller Base on a level that no one else had, though. He could almost instinctively trace the lines where power and energy doubled on itself or transferred through space. But he could do that with almost any of the major engineering products in the First Order, was in fact known to be called in by a few scientists to see if he could see or recognize the flaws in their creations. If Armitage had a power source he could trace its energy’s movement dependant on the channels it took and how much was used up with each pass, understanding the physics of it without the calculations.

So he drew them out. As a child they had been doodles; now that he was older they took form like complex blueprints, only they were never for anything that existed. Poe told him he was a creative genius, which Armitage felt was rather heavy-handed. As far as he was concerned he wasn’t doing anything particularly impressive; but he enjoyed doing it, especially now. Poe’s admiration of them were secondary.

Whenever a design worked and he brought it to full completion, he destroyed it. Poe was the only one who knew exactly why, but Armitage knew it was only a matter of time. The drawings were dangerous, existing as modelling blocks for something that he no longer wanted to be responsible for. It was all the better when something was never finished.

“Getting anywhere?” Poe asked, nodding at the papers.

Armitage shook his head, moving to begin putting them away. Most everyone else on Ajan Kloss had no exact idea of what he was doing most of the time, but they didn’t seem to care. The first six months during his detention (there was no other political word to describe it) had been fraught with uncertainty, anxiety and danger. Everyone had been through so much and, as the new world began to take shape and the old world continued to spit up people like Armitage – like weapons dropped by now-dead warriors – there was too much to deal with to include holding a grudge. Even Rose Tico, whom Armitage had been sure would be the one to kill him in his sleep one of these days, had in the end viewed Poe’s relationship with Armitage with a sort of tired amusement, as if the irony was all that mattered to her.

“This has always been the world we live in,” she would say. “We can only focus on doing better and being better.”

They’d had some good conversations, he and Tico, before she’d gone. One by one, Poe’s friends had slowly drifted away. Poe seemed to understand but, like Armitage, he was a military man. This was all he had ever known, and there weren’t many places left for him to go.

“I was wondering what you were up to tonight,” Poe said, in his most casual, non-casual tone, sidling closer. When Armitage had pointed out that Poe’s flirting had a definite barroom vibe, he’d merely reminded Armitage that half the time he acted like he had no idea who Poe was anyway, justifying his rather heavy-handed tactics. “Any plans?”

At the same time, it was wonderfully, ridiculously addictive to feel this wanted. Armitage had lived his life understanding that at some point most people really wanted him to go away, sooner rather than later. Usually he did. Poe, however, never seemed to want him to leave. Even in the morning. _Especially_ in the morning.

Remembering that – the way that Poe had rolled over onto him a mere ten hours ago, murmuring things like ‘no not yet’ and ‘how are your hands _still_ cold?’, his mouth finding the sweet spot just behind Armitage’s ear – chipped away at his intention to play distant. He didn’t have to pretend to be disinterested to keep the upper hand, because Poe was not leaving him – not yet, anyway, and certainly never of his own volition.

(Armitage was sure of it, and the certainty frightened him in a way, because he had never really allowed himself to believe in someone besides himself. He believed in systems, and science, and order, but the wretched tangle his heart twisted into whenever Poe looked at him made him overlook that.)

The last of his drawing implements put away – they were the first things to get lost, if Armitage wasn’t diligent in making sure everything went back to its proper place – he turned to Poe, smiling, faintly. “Not much,” he said. “Just you.”

It was alright to seek happiness, and to enjoy it when it was found. But he would always remember that it would be fleeting, much like everything else in his life that he had slaved over. Like Tico had said, this was the way the world had always been. He ought not to be surprised by it anymore.

Poe reached over, gently brushing his fingertips over the back of Armitage’s hand, where it was curled around the edge of the drafting table. He tipped his chin up, looked as if he were about to say something. This close, in the heat, Armitage could smell him – musk, sweat, even a breath of shaving soap. His stomach tightened in a sort of satisfied desire, the knowledge that this man was his and his alone.

His kiss surprised Poe, as he knew it would – because they weren’t alone and because anyone strolling by could just look in, something he hated. Some time ago Poe may not have understood the gesture for what it was, but he did now. Even though he pressed into it, deepened it for a moment until Armitage thought of nothing but the scrape of his stubble and the velvety warmth of his mouth, they broke apart quickly.

He felt a soft tickle at the back of his head; Poe was not touching him just yet, but his fingers traced the outline of his skull, disturbing the ends of his hair, before his palm settled on the back of his neck. Poe’s touch was always strong but competent, never applying pressure until Armitage asked for it. He had never leaned towards or against anyone as much as he had Poe Dameron.

“Let’s go to the waterfall tonight,” Poe suggested, gazing up at him with eyes so dark Armitage felt weak in the knees.

He pressed his forehead against Poe’s, the both of them closing their eyes for a moment, drinking each other in. “Will you keep me warm?” he asked, after a long moment.

“Mmmn,” Poe murmured. He stroked the side of Armitage’s neck. “Every way I know how.”

He was deeply, completely in love with Poe Dameron, and there was no fighting it. Armitage had already tried, but having lived a life in which he balanced being abused and being powerful, he knew a losing battle when he was in one. The instinct to resist it had died a long time ago.

That was fine.

Armitage drew back. “Let me finish clearing up in here,” he said. Poe seemed to want to linger, which would do neither of them any good, so he nudged the other man in the direction of the door. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Fine,” Poe said, giving in. He stepped away but hovered for a few seconds more, looking on him admiringly, something Armitage could not even begin to be flattered by – too distracted by the golden light that seemed to exist in Poe’s hair, and the strong line of his jaw. Then he nodded, like this was just any other meeting, and he was gone.

Armitage had seen many beautiful things in his life. Some were innocent, most were terrible. But for the first time in his existence he knew what it was to _be_ beautiful, and to be beheld as such; to be swallowed and consumed by it.

He also knew enough of the world to know that beautiful things did not last – from flower petals to stars, all was destined to wilt or burn out. Poe Dameron was worth the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm no saint.  
> Find proof at vodkertonic.tumblr.com


End file.
